


Fragmented

by Anonymous



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Florida, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Present Tense, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26495788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: What if the Department of Justice was just really, really irresponsible.(mystery_deer wrote this fic once, in which, when Jake and Holt were put in witness protection, Kevin was told they had died. This here is something of an expansion on that)
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago, Kevin Cozner/Ray Holt
Comments: 11
Kudos: 50
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

The voice on the phone is so clear it feels as though the man on the other end of the line is standing right next to Jake, whispering in his ear. Except he’s not whispering, that’d be weird. Instead he’s talking in these calm, measured, short fragments of sentences, like he is actually counting off the words on the fingers of his hand.

He says,

Here is what I need you to do:

Within the next ten minutes -  _ pause  _ \- the bartender will announce -  _ pause _ \- phonecall for Sgt. Fred Barksdale - _ pause _ \- as soon as this happens -  _ pause- _ both you and Captain Holt will excuse yourself from your colleagues -  _ pause _ \- and leave the bar - _ pause _ \- A blue Ford Sedan will be parked out back -  _ pause  _ \- the driver is a young caucasian male with blond hair -  _ pause _ \- you will get into the backseat -  _ pause _ \- and he will take you to a safe location.

“What do I tell the squad and my girlfriend?” asks Jake. This is exciting, like a spy thriller. Only in real life.

Actually next to him the Captain leans in closer, his face all frown, no excitement whatsoever.

The voice on the phone says:

You will tell them -  _ pause  _ \- that the Department of Justice called - _ pause  _ \- and that you have been summoned for an emergency hearing - _ pause  _ \- regarding the case of Jimmy Figgis -  _ pause- _ and your investigation into corruption at the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

“That’s pretty close to the truth,” Jake says, not sure if he’s disappointed or not. He doesn’t want to lie to Amy, but he did want things to be more secret spy-y.

Yes, -  _ pause - _ but do not mention the threat, replies the voice on the phone. Any questions?

Jake glances over at Holt, who shakes his head.

“No, we’re good.”

And just like that the line clicks dead.

***

Bar noises bleed into the restroom of Shaw’s. Chatter, faint music, the shuffling of many distant feet. 

Jake looks at his Captain.

“Okay?” he asks.

Holt nods.

They head back.

***

“Sorry,” is the first thing out of Jake’s mouth when they reach their friends.

“What’s going on?” Amy looks worried, her brows furrowed, her gaze searching his face. He wonders if his eyes are giving anything away. He’s never been super subtle and he’s really thrilled right now, heart pounding, hyper-alert because they just broke into the FBI and he got a death threat and this is like an action movie.

“We received a phonecall from the Department of Justice,” Holt explains before Jake has any chance to reply. The Captain proceeds to give the members of the Nine-Nine exactly the information they were told to give them, which is good but not surprising because Holt is damn smort and really great in a crisis.

“You have to go there right now?” Boyle looks from Jake to Holt and back again, “But…”

“If the order comes from the DOJ, you can’t ignore it,” Terry says.

“Yeah, can’t exactly tell the Department of Justice to call back later.” Jake catches himself glancing at the bartender.

“So, when will you be back?” asks Amy.

“I don’t know. This could take all night.” They just have to find Figgis, he tells himself, no big deal. 

Amy’s face falls and Jake’s stomach twinges.

“Hey,” he cups her cheek, “it’ll be fine and when I get back we’ll pick up this conversation about moving in together and it’ll be great, okay?”

“Yes!” exclaims Boyle.

Jake and Amy both roll their eyes - they’re so in sync.

“Awww, you’re so in sync!” exclaims Boyle.

“Okay,” Amy says, ignoring Boyle and putting her hand on top of Jake’s.

That’s when the bartender calls for Sgt. Fred Barksdale.

***

Holt is sitting up so straight next to Jake in the backseat of the car, it’s kind of ridiculous. How come he doesn’t have a slouch mode, how come he never relaxes, ever? Except he did relax, kind of, when he left that oatmeal on his tie that time. Three months into Kevin’s Paris semester, which, come to think of it, is going to be over this Friday. Four days from now. Jake glances at his watch. It’s past midnight, so three. Three days until the return of Wazerworld. Nope, not as good as Danzes with Wolvez.

And okay, there’s the whole death threat situation, so maybe now is not the time to relax, but still.

“What do you think is going to happen now?” Jake whispers.

Holt looks at him, his face as blank as ever. 

“What do you mean?” he asks. “Protocol dictates that we will be placed in witness protection.” He says them so blandly too, the words that turn Jake’s world upside down.

“What?!” 

Holt just continues to look at him, so Jake repeats it, louder this time.

“What?!” 

“This is protocol, as you should know, Detective.”

“No, nononono, we investigate, we find out where Figgis is and then we arrest him!”

“The Department of Justice has taken over the case.” Holt says it like he’s just reading the weather report.

“No, you’re wrong, Captain.I mean, they’re going to need us for the investigation because without us, there wouldn’t even be one, because we uncovered the mole!”

Witness protection? That’s just ridiculous.

***

Holt is not wrong. 

_ You will go into witness protection immediately,  _ they’re told.

_ This is your handler Marshal Haas. _

_ We have prepared safe houses for both of you in Florida. _

“What?!” squawks Jake.

_ Your bus leaves in five minutes, gentlemen. _

***

Holt  _ is _ wrong, Jake decides on the bus. It’s just that the entire rest of the world happens to also be wrong.

“What about my girlfriend? What about the squad? What about my mom?”

He gets one reply:

_ The Department of Justice will handle the protection of your family and friends. You do not have to worry about it and you are not - we cannot stress this enough, under no circumstances - to contact them. We will give them the information they need. _

“What about his husband?!” Jake exclaims, pointing at Holt - who’s standing next to him, all stoically like a granite statue of a concrete statue of himself. “He’s in France!”

_ We will give him the information he needs. _

***

He didn’t get to say goodbye to Amy, he thinks. He didn’t get to hug her, didn’t get to kiss her, didn’t get to tell her that he loves her _ so much _ .

And that is fucking unfair.

Holt is again sitting up super straight in the seat behind him. He’s staring out the window, silent, his new passport tucked away in the pocket of his new tan cargo shorts.

Jake also has a new passport. He doesn’t want to look at it.

He looks over his shoulder and says, “Hey,” because it’s so late it’s early and he cannot deal with this feeling of having been wronged and this helplessness, “remember this guy, about yay tall” he stands up and holds a hand about an inch above his head, “red hair, blue eyes, never wears jeans, has an inexplicable hate-boner for the real classics like Led Zeppelin?”

Holt just stares at him, face expressionless.

Which is infuriating.

“How come you don’t care what’s going to happen to him? When was the last time you even saw him?”

Holt blinks. His expression doesn’t change.

“Two months, one week, six days, nine hours, seventeen minutes and,” he pauses to glance at his watch, “fifty-one seconds ago.”

Jake’s mouth clicks shut.

It kind of hurts.

***

How do we handle this? Figgis is relentless and we cannot take an entire precinct into witness protection.

Then there are the civilians. Peralta’s current girlfriend is a detective, but he has parents who share his last name - they’re in the phonebook. 

So is Holt’s mother. She is in her eighties, lives alone. There’s a sister and a nephew as well. Plus, the husband, who is scheduled to return from France in three days.

Could he extend his stay?

Even if he does, we have no guarantee he’s safe there. Let’s not forget Figgis infiltrated the  _ FBI _ . Arranging for protection for the husband from here is going to be a headache.

Well, he’s coming back.

Seven more people from the ninety-ninth precinct were directly involved in the Figgis case, eight if we count Pimento, though he has already gone to ground as far as we know. Their lives might be in danger as well.

Full time protection for seven people, plus the families? That is too much.

Figgis only threatened Holt and Peralta, who are on their way to safe houses as we speak. 

We don’t know how long our search for Figgis will take. We have no leads on him. He might get impatient and lash out at any one of the people left behind here to lure Holt and Peralta out. We cannot risk their lives.

Then what do you propose? We put them all in witness protection? You know that’s not in the budget.

We’re talking about human lives here. 

I guess we have no choice. We have to do this old-school.

You mean… fake their deaths?

Yes.

It’s risky; we don’t know if the families can handle playing along.Figgis might have eyes on them. They’ll really have to sell it. Or it’s curtains.

Unless we don’t tell them the truth.

Are you serious? That’s completely unethical!

But in the budget.

The mother is in her eighties, making her believe her son is dead might kill her. Even if it doesn’t, it will be incredibly traumatic. For everyone involved.

Have you read the files on Figgis?

Obviously.

Then you know why they call him the butcher, right? Talk about incredibly traumatic. Listen, if we sell this, they will be safe. They’ll grieve, sure, but a psychopath will not be trying to kill them. This is the best we can do.

Some best.


	2. Chapter 2

Detective Amy Santiago closes her eyes. When she does, she sees Jake in the bar, she hears his phone ring. She hears him say, _ I better take this. _

When she opens her eyes, the man in the dark suit is still standing in front of her, hands folded over his stomach. His edges go blurry like he is a watercolor painting in the rain. Not real.

“I am deeply sorry, Detective,” he repeats. “My condolences.”

This is not real, a voice in her head tells her.

Then Charles starts wailing.

***

The facts are:

Jake and Captain Holt leave Shaw’s at eleven minutes past midnight. They get into Captain Holt’s car - Holt is behind the wheel, Jake in the passenger seat - and start driving to the Bronx address they had been given by their D.O.J. contact. They never arrive. Thirty-four minutes later, on Meadow Lake Road a truck driver veers into their lane, crashing into the passenger side of the car and subsequently catching fire. Out of control, the burning truck pushes Holt’s car across lanes where it is struck by another vehicle. Then, the truck explodes, killing Captain Raymond Jacob Holt, Jacob Peralta and the forty-two-year old truck driver named Edward Ramsey, who, it is speculated, was inebriated at the time of the accident.

***

Amy does not know what to do with the facts. They rattle around in her head like all the knicknacks in her cabinet she was going to put into storage to make room for Jake’s things.

***

“We need to get out of here,” Gina says, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Amy stares at her through underwater eyes, the salt from her own tears burning her cheeks. 

Gina sniffs. “We look like a family of deranged racoons.”

Amy looks around. She hasn’t moved since the arrival of the agent from the D.O.J.. She’s sitting at her desk, in front of her computer, just staring at her desktop wallpaper without seeing anything.

***

_ Can I-- _

_ Can I see him? _ she had asked.

_ I’m sorry, Detective, due to the explosion, well, their bodies are burnt beyond recognition. _

_ Then how can you be sure-- _

She knew of course, DNA, dental records, but still, the voice in her head had insisted.  _ They don’t know, it’s not true. It’s not them. _

***

She honestly doesn’t know how she ends up at Gina’s with Gina and Rosa, in Gina’s bed of all places. She just knows that she’s exhausted although it isn’t even nine a.m. 

***

She had gotten up early, worried, Jake hadn’t called, didn’t answer his phone, was nowhere to be found. She’d gone to work, hoping, wishing, praying he’d be there with his big goofy smile.

He was not.

***

Amy goes to sleep, hoping that when she wakes up the nightmare will be over.

***

“What happens now?” Amy asks. She doesn’t know what time it is. The blinds are drawn, but sunlight presses orange against them, giving the room a faint glow. As though a fire is burning just outside the window.

A fire. Jake and the Captain.

Amy swallows the bile rising in her throat. The tears, however, can’t be swallowed.

Gina is sitting cross-legged on the bed. Her mascara is a mess.

“I don’t know. The funeral, I guess. I called Karen and she’s--” Gina draws a shaky breath and stares very hard at the unicorn pattern on her bedspread. She shudders. “It’s not good.”

“Where’s Rosa?”

“Dunno. She just said, I gotta get outta here. Doing Rosa-stuff. Bear-hunting or unicycling. Your guess is as good as mine.”

***

Gina gets her coffee, which is nice. A nice thing Gina is doing for her.

No, a nice thing Gina is doing for Jake.

“Kev’s still in Paris,” she says when she returns. “He probably doesn’t know yet.”

Amy never realized that it was possible to pity and envy someone at the same time.

You learn something new every day.


	3. Chapter 3

His last days in Paris are a seesaw of emotion. Kevin walks the halls of the Sorbonne, chest swollen with pride because he is here, he deserves to be here, he has earned it. This ancient place of teaching and learning has welcomed him, has allowed him to be part of its history. His semester was a success, even more productive than he had hoped and editing his many papers and presentations into one cohesive work will keep him busy until the end of the year. Kevin is looking forward to it. 

He is happy here, the beautiful language caressing his ears - such a stark contrast to the New York City brand of American English! - the French so gentle by nature, even if it is a “Merde!” yelled in the streets. He will miss it. 

But then there is the longing. With the semester winding down and his suitcase already packed in his small apartment, Kevin on the one hand wants to stay but on the other cannot bear it even for just another moment.

_ It _ being the absence of Raymond. He desperately needs to see his husband again.

And when these thoughts enter his mind - as they always do, whether he is awakening in bed alone or walking to the café around the corner or even in the midst of conversation with his fellow professors - the ache grows inside him until it fills his every pore. 

Three more days. The flight is booked, everything is in order.

Nevermind that Raymond did not answer his phone two hours ago.

It’s fine.

They have been fighting, but those quarrels are behind them now.

They were happy when Raymond was in Paris. They made up.

It was the purest joy to have the person he loves most in the place he loves most. All too brief, but Kevin will take New York City if it means he can be with Raymond Holt. 

He takes a breath and checks his phone.

No calls, no messages.

It will be fine.

***

After an entire day and a half of fretting, Kevin’s cell phone does finally ring on Wednesday evening. A weight falls off Kevin’s chest when he sees Raymond’s name on the screen. At the same time, irritation rears its ugly head. Why did Raymond let him worry for hours and hours? He better have a good reason.

Kevin picks up and his greeting is somewhat less warm than it should be.

There is a pause, the space of a breath, enough for Kevin to regret his coldness.

Then someone speaks. To his horror, it is not his husband.

It is a woman.

It is, he understands only after she has uttered her first phrase, “Hello Kevin, this is Debbie.” his sister-in-law.

There is a tremor in her voice that travels through the ether, over thousands of miles, into his hand. His fingers can barely hold the phone. 

Something has happened to his Raymond, he knows this, even before she says, “I need you to sit down, Baby.”

***

Kevin is sitting on the edge of his bed, cell phone in his lap. He doesn’t know how much time has passed since Debbie sobbed “Goodbye” and hung up. He just doesn’t know.

It is impossible to know.

***

Someone is at his door.

“Marcus is coming to get you, so stay exactly where you are, okay? He’s on the plane right now. I’m staying here with Ma.”

Kevin gets up. He registers that his legs hurt, but it doesn’t matter. He stumbles over to the door, unlocks it and pulls it open without asking who it is. Raymond would scold him for his carelessness.

Raymond’s nephew is standing there, looking sad and uncomfortable. 

“Hey, Kevin,” he says, then moves in for an awkward hug. Kevin can barely muster the strength to lift his arms to return it. “Is there anything you need to do before we leave? Packing? Anything?”

Confronted with a question, Kevin wracks his brain for the correct answer.

“No,” he says carefully. “My suitcase is in the bedroom.”

A thought crosses his mind. “I should inform the landlord of my early departure. I’ll go up right away.”

“Yeah, no,” Marcus’ eyebrows knit, “Kevin, it’s half past three in the morning.”

“Oh,” Kevin says.

“Look, you can just call them later. And if you forget anything here, I’m sure they can send it, right? Easy.” Marcus puts a hand on his arm and steers him gently back into the apartment. “Our flight leaves in an hour. We’ll just quickly get everything you need and then we’ll go, okay?”

Kevin nods.

***

In the cab to Charles de Gaulle Kevin keeps glancing at Marcus’ profile. They used to take him for a few days at a time, maybe a whole week once, when he was a child. It is nearly impossible to reconcile the rambunctious little boy in Kevin’s memory with the man sitting next to him, though he has seen him grow up.

One particular afternoon has stayed with him. Marcus must have been two or three. They had taken him to a playground in Raymond’s old neighborhood. At the time, their relationship had still been fresh and new and Kevin had felt like he himself was growing into a new person, like he was breaking out of the shell that had been his old self.

What he remembers most vividly is walking home that day in the light of the setting sun, next to Raymond, who was carrying little Marcus in his arms. The drowsy boy had rested his head on Raymond’s shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. Kevin remembers fussing over him, worrying about sunstroke. He had pressed his hand to the child’s forehead to feel his temperature and Raymond had looked at him with such warmth that Kevin’s heart had skipped a beat. 

Kevin’s fingers claw into his thighs.

Raymond.

***

“You should try to get some sleep, maybe,” Marcus says as soon as they’re in their seats. He fishes around in his pocket, pulling a face. Finally, he produces a small tin box, which he flips open to offer Kevin the two white pills inside. “They’re from Mom, in case you need help.”

_ Do not accept pills from my sister _ , Kevin hears Raymond’s grave voice in his head,  _ they could be anything. _

He takes them both and swallows them dry.

***

New York City is a grey blur. Were it not for Marcus’ hand around his bicep, Kevin would not be moving at all. He would be standing on the sidewalk, head pounding, being cursed by the city’s ever angry pedestrians. 

He does not know where he is until he crosses the threshold of Laverne Holt’s apartment and his surroundings snap into sharp, cruel focus.

He doesn’t really understand until first his sister- and then mother-in-law embrace him.

Raymond Holt is dead.


End file.
